


Flowers for Algermoth

by lamarcelaise



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Combeferre really loves moths, Facebook, Gen, Moths, Queerplatonic Relationships, Tumblr, implied anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamarcelaise/pseuds/lamarcelaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre has killed a moth, and he comes to Enjolras for emotional support. </p><p>(A silly thing based off of something I saw on the Tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers for Algermoth

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this post: http://enjolrasdiedsmiling.tumblr.com/post/52665418797/a-simplelimabean-so-my-friend-killed-a-moth-and
> 
> and the tag: #WHY HAS NO ONE MADE A COMMENT ABOUT COMBEFERRE
> 
> Here is your comment about Combeferre. 
> 
> Warning: This story has no point what-so-ever and is nothing but silly (and probably quite "OOC") crack.

It was about three in the morning, and Enjolras was just about to log-out of the Facebook when a chat message opened up in front of him. He was going to ignore it initially, because for once he actually admitted that he desperately needed sleep; however, upon seeing that it was from his best friend, Combeferre, he clicked on the little pop-up tab and read the message. 

_Combeferre: enjolras i just killed a moth_

He paused for a second, tired mind almost not understanding what was just said. It took a moment before he typed out a reply: 

_Enjolras: But, you love moths._

_Combeferre: no shit i love moths hence the freaking out_

He must be very distressed if he was typing like this. Usually he was very meticulous in his syntax. Enjolras was getting worried, and he was about to type up a reply, but he then saw the next message:

_Combeferre: the worst part is after the first hit bc immediately before you were filled with adrenaline like 'yeah im gonna kill this thing' but then you hit it and it cant fly anymore and it knows its life is over but IT KEEPS FIGHTING and you see it struggling so instead of helping you you dont want it to live a life with broken wings and such so you just keep hitting it despite how hard its fighting to live and you hit it and hit it and its like you dont even know who you are anymore youre a monster a soulless monster and then before you know it your looking at the beautiful creature dead on your carpet with no life ahead of itself all thats left is its cold dead body and you finally think 'wow you know this beautiful gift from god was put here for a reason and that reason was not to cause harm or destruction but to live peacefully among humans but it cant do this bc humans are just shitty excuses for life'_

There was a pause, for just a minute, as Enjolras read the message and contemplated what, exactly, he should do. He always knew exactly how to respond to Combeferre, exactly how to react to everything that his friend said and did, and could usually predict him fairly well. Unfortunately, now was one of those rare times that he had no idea what the hell to do, was caught completely off-guard, and before he could really think about it his fingers just typed out the words _'are you okay'._

There was a pause for another minute, and he was seriously starting to worry. Just as he began to dial his friend's number into his mobile-phone (he had it on speed-dial, but had the telephone number so deeply internalised that he always typed it out anyway), Combeferre answered him.

_Combeferre: no im crying_

Enjolras let out a slight sigh, mostly lamenting the fact that his friend was unhappy, and began to type. 

_Enjolras: Come on over, then. I've got a heated blanket and a cup of tea with your name on it._

(That was no exaggeration, too: Enjolras really did have a cup with his friend's name with it, and Combeferre had one with his. That was how often they were at each other's houses.) 

There was no response to the message, but Combeferre was at his house faster, perhaps, than he ever had been before.


End file.
